A Rough Wooing Read Free Page B

beneath her bed. She was an Elliot
to her very bones, and she had made up her mind that if they went
on a raid across the Border tonight, she would be riding with
them.
    To pass the time until dark descended,
Douglas took herself off to the kitchen. The aroma of baking bread
filled the air, and she decided that she would make a treacle
pudding. Meg, the rosy-cheeked cook handed her a pot of lard, a
lump of suet, a sack of flour, and a rolling pin. When Meg went to
the pantry to find a jar of treacle, Douglas slipped a sharp
kitchen knife down her boot.
    That night at dinner, Douglas counted two
dozen extra men, all Elliots and Grahams who lived along the River
Esk. She noticed that Gavin kept an eye on the ale that was served.
He allowed them enough to give them courage, but not an excess that
would make them intoxicated.
    After dinner, they stretched out on the
flagstones of the hall, casting dice, and passing the time until
the moon rose. Douglas yawned and bade them all goodnight. She
dished out a plate of treacle pudding and carried it upstairs with
her. She sat down on her bed to eat it and fortify herself against
the cold ride through the dark fells. She shivered with excitement
as she braided her long hair and wrapped the plaits around her
head. She changed into the breeks and leather jack, knowing that
this would be the sort of night that would make her glad she was
alive.
    From her window she could watch the rising
moon, and when she saw the shadowy figures of the men silently
heading toward the stables, excitement ran along her veins as she
anticipated the raid that lay ahead. Her plan was to wait until
they had all gone. It would be easy to catch up with them and ride
at the back of the pack.
    She opened a dresser drawer and took out a
beaver bonnet. She pulled it on her head and tucked in her plaits,
then she went to her mirror to make sure there were no telltale red
tendrils sticking out. As she examined her reflection, she saw the
image of Lance Greystoke in its silver depths. His dark eyes were
accusing, and she glanced away quickly, determined to banish the
English noble from her thoughts.
    When she approached the stables, all was
silent. A stable lad approached, and she waved him off with a
masculine gesture. She saddled her Border pony, mounted, and
trotted out into the castle bailey. She hugged the mare with her
knees and pulled up the collar of her leather jack to keep out the
wind. It was a cold night, but as she galloped along the river, the
excitement of her adventure kept her warm, and she stifled the urge
to throw back her head and laugh with glee.
    It didn’t take her long to catch up with the
others. Their hoofbeats were muffled by the grass, but the
silhouettes of the thirty-odd riders were visible in the moonlit
shadows.
    She caught up with them and rode beside her
brother Rob until they got near the English Border. Finally, he
recognized her pony. “Christ, Douglas, what the hell are ye
about?”
    “I scouted the horses at Beaumont. It was my
idea to take them before anybody else made off with them. I’m an
Elliot. There’s no way I’d let you leave me behind.”
    “Best keep yer mouth shut. If Gavin finds
out, he’ll give ye a thrashin’.”
    The riders slowed their pace as they spotted
about a hundred mounted men ahead of them. “That’ll be the
Johnstons on their way to Cargo. Best not let them see us, if we
don’t want the Beaumont thoroughbreds snatched from under our
noses.”
    She nodded and drew rein until the Johnstons
put some distance between them. Her heart began to pound from the
heightened danger of the raid now that they were about to cross
over into England. What if Greystoke is at Beaumont defending
his property? A goose walked over her grave and she shivered.
“Rob, promise me you won’t use your pistol!”
    “Not unless I have to,” he said with a
grin.
    They crossed the Border, and left the River
Esk behind. When they got to the River Eden, the pale